


Windows

by GriegPlants



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, M/M, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 22:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13600182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GriegPlants/pseuds/GriegPlants
Summary: A collection of perspectives on a ... relationship.





	Windows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youtomyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youtomyme/gifts).



> Happy Chocolate Box Holiday of your choice!

Nobby Nobbs peered longingly in through the tavern window and stifled a yawn as he headed back to the watch house. It was the last shift of the night, and the morning sun was just rising above the Rim.

‘Want to stop in for one, Fred?’

Sergeant Colon, who had been stolidly ambling along beside him despite beginning to nod off, grunted and shook his head.

‘Too tired, Nobby. I’m just going to turn in soon as I get home. Maybe tomorrow.’

‘Right.’

They took a right onto Broad Way. The lights of Pseudopolis Yard were visible in the distance, but Nobby found his attention drawn to a pair of dark figures somewhat closer at hand, moving towards the watchmen on the side of the street still cloaked in shadows. One of them was using a cane, or at least something long, thin, and seemingly firm enough to cause injury.

He nudged Colon and jerked his head in the direction of the approaching shapes. It was just the time of morning that they could represent either enterprising citizens making an early start on the day, or some of the city’s less reputable denizens returning from a night of unsavoury work. Since this was Ankh-Morpork, it usually paid to assume the latter. Colon shook himself a bit more awake and stuck his thumbs in his belt so he could access a weapon easily.

Neither of the watchmen relaxed much when the strolling figures resolved themselves into Lord Vetinari and his secretary, Drumknott. There was also a third shape between them which Nobby hadn’t noticed from a distance. It was a small dog on a leash, its stubby legs moving furiously to keep up with the relaxed pace of the two men.

As the parties crossed paths, Colon saluted smartly, and Nobby saluted. To their disappointment, the Patrician seemed inclined to notice them.

‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ he said, halting. The stubby dog caught up and began sniffing around Nobby’s boots.

‘Good morning, sir!’ replied Colon, a combination of pride and rampant anxiety evident in his posture.

‘You are returning from patrol, I see. Were the streets peaceful tonight?’

Glad that Colon was, as usual, taking on the duty of speaking to Authority, Nobby surreptitiously scanned Drumknott for semi-valuable items which might be possible to liberate. He couldn’t help himself; it was habit. He wouldn’t actually try taking anything with Lord Vetinari there, probably.

Drumknott was noticeably devoid of any appealing items. He had a pen clipped neatly in his pocket, but it was the same sort as was kept in the watch house[1]. None of the secretary’s other pockets suggested they held anything, except perhaps a handkerchief. He was not wearing any jewellery.

Nobby glanced up and was discomfited to see Drumknott looking directly at him. He tried a smile. The secretary’s faintly bored expression didn’t change, which was unnerving in itself. Usually, Nobby’s grins elicited at least a mild exclamation of alarm.

The dog, which had finished happily covering his boots in slobber, leapt in a slow, joyous circle around his feet. Animals tended to like Nobby. Unfortunately, while he’d been distracted by Drumknott’s uncanny perceptiveness, the dog had succeeded in looping its leash several times around his ankles. He tried to carefully wriggle free, but this had no effect, and he didn’t dare attempt anything more energetic because the Patrician was holding the other end of the leash.

Nobby observed with irritation that Drumknott was watching his predicament with apparent enjoyment, the corners of his lips quirked very slightly upward. He huffed and, since there was nothing else he could do, waited as Colon stammered his way through answering a few more of the Patrician’s fairly mundane questions. The dog, exhausted by its antics, lay down with its head on Nobby’s damp left boot.

‘Well, Drumknott, I fear we have kept these fine officers from their well-deserved rest. Let us be on our way.’ His interview of Colon evidently over, Lord Vetinari nodded to the watchmen and turned to go. He paused upon seeing Nobby’s plight. ‘Oh dear. Mr. Fusspot, while your participation in the spirit of law enforcement is admirable, arresting a member of the watch should not be done without serious cause.’

The dog wagged its tail upon being addressed, but made no effort to rise. Drumknott slid the loop of the leash off the Patrician’s wrist and held it while Vetinari searched in a pocket, eventually producing a dog biscuit which he used to lure Mr. Fusspot counter-clockwise until Nobby was freed.

‘Good day to you, gentlemen,’ said Vetinari. The watchmen stood at attention as the Patrician and his companions proceeded down the street.

Nobby watched them go, traces of conversation drifting back to him. Drumknott held out Mr. Fusspot’s leash. Lord Vetinari pushed the secretary’s fingers closed over the loop.

‘You may walk him for a while,’ he said.

Colon, whose gait had been awkwardly stiff all the way down Broad Way, relaxed as they entered the watch house. ‘Just goes to show, Nobby, it’s a good thing we didn’t stop for that drink after all,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It wouldn’t do for his lordship to think we’d go and leave the streets unprotected, right?’

‘Yeah,’ said Nobby, who was lost in thought. ‘Hey, what do you suppose they was doing out there this early?’

‘Who knows? Could be anything. Maybe he was just walking his dog, even.’

‘Sure, but he brung along his secretary. What’s that for? No notes I could see, and I don’t reckon his lordship needs a secret bodyguard or nothing.’

Colon shrugged. ‘No idea, Nobby. Look, I’m off to bed. It’s been a long night and no mistake.’

‘Yeah,’ Nobby said again, waving a vague farewell. As he stashed away the various small items he’d accumulated on the night’s patrol, he considered whether Lord Vetinari might have been dictating notes to Drumknott after all, and the secretary was simply remembering them rather than writing anything down; he didn’t think the Patrician would go on about plans where anyone could overhear, though.

Nothing that he knew about Vetinari suggested that he’d want company on a walk just for the sake of company, but all appearances seemed to suggest just that. He felt like he was missing something.

Oh well, he reflected as he slid a final tarnished fork into place and headed off, this kind of thing was above his pay grade anyway.

* * *

The Patrician’s coach arrived at Pseudopolis Yard at the same time as Angua. She greeted Lord Vetinari as he got out.

‘What information can you provide, Sergeant?’

‘Very little, sir. I wasn’t at the scene. I don’t think we’ve got a suspect yet, but the Commander’s down there now.’

‘Good. And the victim?’ They reached the door of the watch house. Cheri Littlebottom, who must have seen their approach through the window, opened it for them and saluted.

‘I don’t know, sir. Corporal Littlebottom, where have we put Mr. Drumknott?’

‘He’s downstairs with Igor. Carrot’s with them,’ Littlebottom said. ‘I think he’s alive, sir,’ she added, glancing at Vetinari.

‘Lead the way, Sergeant,’ Vetinari said. Angua showed him down the stairs to Igor’s laboratory in the cells. Something was bothering her, but she wasn’t sure what it was.

Igor had laid Drumknott on a clean table and was currently stitching up a cut on the secretary’s chest. Carrot, who was observing the process, looked up as Angua and Vetinari entered the room.

‘He’s alright, sir, just unconscious at the moment. Igor gave him something for the procedure.’

‘Thank you, Captain. Do you know what happened?’

‘We’re not sure, sir, but Constable Thighbiter thinks he was probably in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was an unlicensed robbery at a shop nearby and the suspects may have fled down the side street where Mr. Drumknott was found. It’s unlikely to be political, sir, or they’d have made sure he was dead.’

‘He should be able to tell uth more when he wakes up, thir,’ Igor put in, glancing up from his stitching. ‘It’th hard to predict exactly how long the anaththetic will last, but he’ll be up and about in a few hourth.’

Vetinari nodded. ‘Very good. Now, I believe I will meet Commander Vimes at the crime scene. Keep me informed.’

He limped up the stairs and vanished.

‘He’s thertainly in a hurry,’ remarked Igor.

Angua nodded. ‘Come on,’ she said to Carrot, ‘I think we should go look at the shop where this robbery happened. I can track the thieves from there. Do you know where it is?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Good thinking.’ They left the watch house and headed down the street, walking in step.

‘Did the Patrician seem off to you?’ Angua asked. Carrot’s brow furrowed.

‘Off? I don’t think so. Why?’

‘Something looked weird about him,’ she said, and then realised. ‘No, something _smelled_ weird. He smelled concerned! That’s what it was. Do you think Drumknott was carrying something? Documents, a letter – maybe he thinks this is political after all.’

Carrot considered. ‘It could be,’ he said. ‘Thighbiter said as far as he could tell the poor man was just out buying office supplies, though. It didn’t look like anybody went through his pockets.’

‘He could have been carrying something.’

‘His hands would have been pretty full. Apparently there were a lot of office supplies.’

‘Hm.’

‘Perhaps Lord Vetinari was just worried about him,’ Carrot suggested. ‘He’s an upstanding man and I’m sure he cares about his servants.’

Angua stared at him. He probably did believe that, she thought. ‘This seemed a little… _intense_ for that,’ she said carefully. ‘I think Drumknott must have been on some kind of errand for him.’

‘Well, we shall find out when he wakes up,’ said Carrot.

They continued down a road to the left. Angua racked her brain for theories about what the secretary might have been doing, but as was usually the case with anything related to Lord Vetinari, there were far too many possibilities for her to pin one down.

* * *

Snow was falling so thickly that it blocked most of the light which would normally be coming in through Rincewind’s window. In the dimness, he squinted at the lettering on the package which had been left outside his door. It said

_Rincewind_

_Unseen University_

_Ankh-Morp_

There was a damp smudge after that. Rincewind supposed that some snow had leaked into the mail coach, or possibly that whoever had brought the package up to his room had fallen over while struggling through the frozen wasteland outside. He picked it up and cautiously prodded the damp paper with a quill.

It tore slightly, and Rincewind dropped it and leapt back in alarm. Nothing obviously dangerous happened, so eventually he picked it back up and carried it over to his bed.

The paper was wrapped haphazardly around a somewhat squashed box, which Rincewind opened. Inside was a pile of knit fabric in multiple colours and a square of paper. _Happy Hogswatch from Bill (D.Thau., D.M., D.Mn., D.G., D.D., D.M. Phil., D.M.S., D.C.M., D.W.)_ was written on this in a bold, spiky hand.

Upon further inspection, the pile of knitting revealed itself to be a cardigan decorated with randomly arranged blocks of colour. Rincewind put it on over his robes. It was much too large.

He jumped at the sound of loud knocking on his door. Opening it, he beheld the Dean, or at least as much of the Dean as was visible through the narrow doorway.

‘Uh. Yes?’ said Rincewind.

‘You have an appointment at the palace,’ said the Dean, who seemed slightly unnerved.

‘I do?’

‘That’s what I said, man. The Archchancellor is already there. You should probably be quick about it.’

While Rincewind felt no lack of formless dread about whatever awaited him at the palace, this was eclipsed by the much more concrete horrified fascination he felt regarding what the Patrician might do if he failed to show up. The deep snow hindered his journey to some extent, but Rincewind had plenty of practice at moving quickly in uncomfortable conditions. He staggered up to the door of the Oblong Office in a surprisingly short amount of time, slightly damp on account of the snow. This kind of weather was nice enough on actual Hogswatch, he thought, but that had been five days ago and in his opinion it had definitely overstayed its welcome by now.

The door was open. Inside the office, Archchancellor Ridcully stood in front of the Patrician’s desk. Behind the desk sat Lord Vetinari, reading something printed on a few pages of impressively decorated paper. Another stack of paper lay off to the side, edges precisely parallel to the edges of the desk.

‘Ah, Professor Rincewind. Come in,’ said the Patrician. ‘I have just received a letter from the People's Beneficent Republic of Agatea. It makes mention of events which occurred prior to the Silver Horde’s conquest of the Agatean Empire and the subsequent proletarian revolution. I understand that you are an authority on this period.’

‘Er,’ said Rincewind. ‘I was there for some of it, if that’s what you mean, sir. But I was mostly running away.’

Vetinari waved a hand. ‘Not only that, surely,’ he said. ‘The author of this letter seems to think quite highly of you, if you are indeed the person to whom the title “Great Wizard” refers.’

‘Only one ‘z’ this time, so they could mean someone else,’ said the Archchancellor, who seemed to be in a jolly mood.

‘That’s… probably me,’ Rincewind said unhappily. ‘What do you want me to do?’

Vetinari gave him a thin smile, very briefly. ‘Nothing that will place you in any immediate danger. I would like you to provide a report on your travels in the former Empire within a period of, shall we say, two weeks. Leave no detail unrecorded.’

Rincewind hesitated. The request had been phrased casually enough, but he was acutely aware that two weeks was well outside the scope of ‘immediate,’ and while he had a talent for learning languages his usage of them tended to lean towards the purely practical.

‘I’m not a great writer, sir,’ he said.

‘Pleasant prose is not required, Professor, only – ha – precision. Drumknott will supply you with a summary of our current knowledge of the era.’

Rincewind jumped as the secretary slid noiselessly into his peripheral vision, holding a stack of papers.

‘Shall I include the letters as well, my lord?’ asked the neat little man.

‘Certainly.’

The secretary lifted a few sheets held together by a paperclip from the top of the stack. He removed the clip and handed the papers, along with the rest of the stack, to Rincewind. Out of a pocket he pulled a thin silver case into which he put the paperclip. The case had an engraving, which Rincewind could read if he tilted his head. It said ‘ _R. Drumknott, personal secretary to Lord H. Vetinari_.’

‘Thank you, Drumknott. Those should help you place your observations in context,’ Vetinari informed Rincewind.

‘Right.’

‘I suggest you take advantage of the weather to begin your report.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Before Rincewind could escape the office, Ridcully commented, ‘I say, peculiar outfit you’ve got on.’

He looked down. In his hurry to get to the Palace, he had forgotten to remove the horrible cardigan. It hung off his shoulders and trailed behind him like a badly fitted cape.

‘It was a Hogswatch present,’ he said.

‘Not exactly your colour, eh? Actually, your colour’s probably in there somewhere...’

‘Ah, the value of a gift is not limited to its material worth, Archchancellor,’ said Vetinari, who had picked up the letter from Agatea and appeared to be taking notes. ‘For example, I recently received a copy of the full score of _Bloodaxe and Ironhammer_ as a Hogswatch gift _._ ’ He indicated the papers at the edge of his desk. ‘I could certainly have obtained this myself. Had I done so, however, I expect I would be less enthusiastically inclined to read it, although the score itself would be identical.’

‘Suppose so,’ acknowledged Ridcully amiably. ‘Got some very good drinks for Hogswatch myself.’ He patted the brim of his hat, apparently without intent. ‘You were telling me about the priests...’

Rincewind backed out of the office as Vetinari and the Archchancellor resumed whatever discussion they’d been having prior to his arrival. The visit had gone much less awfully than he’d assumed it would, which probably meant something really terrible would happen to him later.

Drumknott was standing outside the office, inspecting a series of dents in the wall. 'Be careful on your way back to the University. The snow is getting very deep,' he said.

'Thanks,' said Rincewind.

'Agatean paper is quite vulnerable to water damage.'

'Oh. Right.'

He was very careful to keep the stack of papers dry, in the hope that whatever horrors the near future held wouldn’t have anything to do with the Patrician, who frightened him even more than most other things. He couldn’t imagine being friendly enough with the man to give him a Hogswatch gift, and wondered vaguely who could.

The thought left his mind as he passed the University’s gates, however, due to the sight of the Bursar hovering dazedly beside a broken window which he recognised as leading to his own room. Rincewind groaned. Like a bird, the Bursar had probably been confused by the reflection of the snow in the glass and attempted to fly into an open space that was not there. The result, at any rate, was that his room was probably at least half filled with snow already.

On a grand scale, he supposed, it wasn’t really that bad.

* * *

‘Close the window, would you, Sam? The smoke from the Alchemist’s guild is getting in.’

‘He does it for fun, I’m telling you. He probably makes up these awards just so he can give them to me because he knows I hate it.’

‘Oh, Havelock wouldn’t do that, dear. He likes you a great deal, you know.’

‘Huh! Likes getting me to stand out in front of everyone looking like a – a damn silly person, you mean.’

‘You did save all those scrolls from the fire.’

‘Only because the old man wouldn’t stop clinging to them and blubbering! What do I care about what some king did to a few philosophers a thousand years ago?’

‘They’re an important part of the history of thought, Sam. A lot of our laws are based on theories recorded in those scrolls.’

‘Any of the good ones?’

‘Quite a few, I believe. Some bad ones too, but a lot of those have been written out over the years.’

‘Alright, alright. He doesn’t have to be so smug about it, though. Making his bloody puns the whole time, smirking at his secretary like I don’t understand what he’s saying...’

‘You mean Mr. Drumknott? He seems like a very polite young man, dear. I’m sure he’s not making fun of you. Why don’t you sit down? If you keep circling like that one leg’s going to end up shorter than the other.’

‘Oho, Mr. Drumknott looks very polite, but he’s got a sarcastic streak a mile wide. He was smirking right back at Vetinari.’

‘Perhaps they were sharing a private joke – _about something else,_ Sam, not you. Havelock does spend his time doing things that don’t involve giving you the recognition you deserve.’

‘I know. I’m sorry, Sybil. This damn case has been getting to me. We’re so close, and I don’t have the time for Vetinari’s mind games.’

‘It’s good for you to take a break every once and a while, you know. And you need to get more sleep, too. I’ve woken up five nights in a row now and found you already up.’

‘...I know. That’s another thing, though; the man doesn’t bloody _sleep._ You think you’ve got something new to report, and even though it’s three in the morning and whatever it is happened five minutes ago, when you get to the palace he’s sitting at his desk and chatting with his secretary – who doesn’t sleep either, apparently – and it turns out he already knows. What do they do all night anyway? Go through reports that come in every few seconds?’

‘ _Sam.’_

‘...Yeah. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s alright, dear. Look, perhaps – perhaps there’s something I could do to help you with the case. You said you think Ronnie Rust might be involved, right?’

‘I’m sure of it, but there’s no proof. There never is with him. There’s not even much evidence, not really. Or there is, but we haven’t found it.’

‘I might have some ideas about where to look. Why don’t you tell me what happened, from the beginning?’

‘I don’t know, Sybil. You have that get-together you’re planning, and I could be on the wrong track with this.’

‘Well – what if you tell me about the case, we see if I have anything to suggest, and then you help me plan the soiree while we have dinner? And then we can go to bed, because I’m sure it will have gotten quite late.’

‘Alright. Thanks, dear.’

‘You’re welcome, Sam. So, the first doorknob went missing last Saturday?’

* * *

The Patrician stood by the window, looking out at the city. A chilly fog was rolling in from the Ankh. Wisps of rancid mist intertwined soupily, staining the early morning view faintly sepia.

A solitary curl of pale grey drifted in front of the landscape. Vetinari smiled and turned away from the window to take the steaming cup of tea proferred by his secretary.

‘Thank you, Rufus,’ he said.

Drumknott smiled in return, gave a slight bow, and joined him at the window. A few minutes later, Vetinari placed an arm around the secretary’s shoulders. Drumknott wrapped an arm around the Patrician’s narrow hips.

The sun rose, light oozing syrup-like over the rim of the world. It slowed its already languid progress as it encountered the fog over Ankh-Morpork, idly evaporating the murky droplets. The two men watched until every building was outlined in gold2 and the last traces of the night’s mist had disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> 1Nobby had quite a large collection of these pens already, and considered all those still in the watch house an unofficial extension of this. [return to text]
> 
> 2Except the Tower of Art, which due to Unseen University’s dense magical field was highlighted primarily in octarine. [return to text]
> 
> Thanks for your request! I love Discworld and haven't been confident enough to write anything for it before, so this gave me a reason to try doing so. You also mentioned enjoying formal speech patterns, which are always a blast, so - thanks!
> 
> This fic kind of ran away from me length-wise. I'd intended it to be around one thousand words.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story, anyway, and have a great day!


End file.
